Asshole's Bride (Bad Boy Romance)

by Amy Faye

  Dave stood in the doorway and watched me cook. I could feel those eyes on me the whole time, no matter what I was doing. Even when he finally turned to go back into the front room, and I could finally breathe easy, I still felt the weight of his gaze on me, as if just having been looked at by him was enough to have a lasting effect.

  I let out a long, low breath. I had the sense not to fall into this trap again. I wasn’t the same girl I was then. I was an adult, and I knew how to have the sense that God gave a rock. Dave wanted to leave, and in three more days he’d be back on the road again. No need to get wrapped up in his orbit again.

  The food was a welcome distraction from my thoughts. If I wanted to, I could cook without thinking at all. I’d been making pasta since I was ten years old, and I could practically do it while I took a nap. I could do it while I had to think hard about something else, in fact—which I knew intimately, because I had to do a surprising amount of my coursework over the stove since I went back to school.

  But there’s nothing that says I had to do it without thinking. I took as much care as I could manage, preparing everything I would need and getting it into the right place. Checked the pot. Not boiling yet. There’s still more to be done before the sauce is ready, though, so I didn’t have to stop yet. I didn’t have to face the other room. I guess we were all coping with our own problems in our own ways.

  Instead, I test the edge of the large chef’s knife on my thumbnail. It skitters easily across the hard surface without ever even thinking about digging in. I fish out the sharpening steel and start making long, smooth, even strokes up and down. Three out and three back. I tested the edge again. It’s getting there.

  Two out, two back, and then one out and one back. Tested it a third time. It’s not sharp enough to shave with it, but I don’t need it that sharp. I’m happy if it will cut instead of just squishing the vegetables under the edge.

  So I set the knife aside and picked up the cheese. The feeling of the cheese in my hands is heavy, hard, and dry. Exactly what I wanted to feel. I pressed hard into the grater and started rubbing. On the other side of the grater, a pile of cheese began to form.

  “You look different.”

  I dropped the cheese on the counter and practically jumped through the roof. I’m not proud of it, but I yelped.

  “Jesus! You scared me!”

  Dave stepped into the kitchen and the temperature rose ten degrees.

  “Need any help?”

  “No,” I told him. It wasn’t a lie, even if it did leave out the most important reasons why I didn’t need any help. Reasons like, I didn’t need any help from him before this, and I would go right back to not needing his help after he left.

  “You sure? Your water’s boiling.”

  I turned to look. He was right. I hadn’t noticed the sound start up, but once I knew to listen for it I could hear the sound of the water hissing under the hum of the television in the other room.

  “You’re right.” I poured the pasta into the pot and stirred it for a moment, and then went back to sauce preparations. I didn’t need to pay special attention to it any more to make sure that it kept my attention.

  My hands moved quickly to form up enough cheese; I pushed it into a mixing bowl and then moved on to the herbs. My recipe has been evolving since I figured out how to cook boxed store pasta. Usually, I take the time to prepare my own noodles, these days. But on short notice like this, I can make do in a pinch.

  What I can’t make do without was some chopped tarragon and parsley. My hands move quickly and efficiently as I worked.

  “You look good, you know. Better.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I was grateful for the distraction of mis-timing the entire effort because otherwise I’d have to think about a whole lot of history that was better off when it was dead and buried.

  “What have you been up to these past years?”

  “Started going to Northern,” I answered.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’ll be completing my masters next semester.”

  “What in?”

  “In being busy,” I said. “I need to deal with this roux before it burns.”

  Dave looked at me hard. Like he was thinking about something real hard. If he’d thought real hard sooner, maybe I wouldn’t want to get him out of this kitchen so badly.

  “Seems like it.”

  “Well, I do my best. What have you been up to? Shacking up with girls in Singapore or something?”

  “I’ve never been,” he answered. He leaned against the side of the doorway and watched me moving. I hated those eyes. But I couldn’t tell him that, because it would be admitting defeat, and I’m not going to let him win.

  “I hear it’s lovely. Just don’t spit on the sidewalk and you’ll have a great time.”

  “I wondered what happened to you.”

  “Well, I’m still here.” I was stirring vigorously, or at least as vigorously as I could without risking throwing everything out of the pan. The physical activity made it easier not to lose my temper completely.

  “The town’s not the same as when I left it.”

  “It’s mostly the same. Well, that’s not true.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “We’ve got a Home Depot a few miles down Main, for one. And for another, you aren’t here any more. So I’d say that on the whole, things are looking up around here.”

  He scowled. I scowled back at him. “You really can’t stand me, can you?”

  I looked up at him. My hand froze in the slowly mixing cheese sauce that might be pretty tasty if I don’t burn the shit out of it.

  “That’s not it at all, Dave. You made your choice. You wanted to go, you went. I don’t blame you for that. Just leave me alone, will you?”

  “I’m just trying to be friendly,” he scoffed.

  “Well, I didn’t ask you to be friendly. I have a life now, and you’re not in it.”

  I pulled the sauce off the heat to get a little more stirring in before it finishes cooking. Besides, I’ve still got a few solid minutes of cooking left on the noodles. In front of my face, a digital timer counts down from four minutes.

  He stared at me. I didn’t look back at him, in spite of my brain’s best efforts to convince me that it would be different this time, somehow.

  I’m not going to fall for this again, and I’m not going to fall for him again. Not even if he has filled out a lot since high school. Not even if he’s giving me his full attention, something I craved since I knew that boys weren’t all cooties and mud.

  I added some milk. It started to reduce immediately even with the heat on low. But I’d done this before, and I was past the point where I worried about it going wrong.

  The timer goes off for the pasta. I turn and pour it into the strainer, which I’d taken unnecessary pains in preparing in advance. Then the sauce comes off the heat and I poured them both into a serving platter and pushed past Dave.

  “Here, Mrs. Collins. You’ve got to finish at least this much, okay?” I dished what would barely be considered a light lunch into a bowl and considered myself lucky if she finished that much food today.

  “You sticking around to eat?”

  I was until you came here, I think. “I’ll pick something up on the way home.”

  Dave looked at me like he knew I’d just changed my plans. “I’ll see you around?”

  I pinched my lips together. Not if I had a choice, we wouldn’t. “Someone has to make sure that your mother eats something, and you’re not going to be around long enough to make much difference in that arena, so… I guess we’ll see each other until you get back to whatever it is you do.”

  Three

  Dave

  There weren’t many changes in town. That was what Laura had said. But maybe she wasn’t in a good position to see it. She’d been here the whole time. Gradual changes are hard to spot; sudden changes are easy. People notice new construction. They notice a new subdivision, or a new mall, or a new movie theater. Maybe
there weren’t any of those things, or maybe they were all seven years old now. Old news. But to me, they were still news.

  But I could see one change that was as big as anything I’d seen coming into town. Laura Small had been a shy, little, retreating thing when I’d left here. She’d always had a thing for me, and I’d always pretended I didn’t notice it.

  That had apparently changed, and I couldn’t begin to guess what had brought that change on. But I didn’t have much time to be thinking about it, either. I had other things to worry about.

  “How have you been holding up?” No answer. Maybe she didn’t hear me. “Mom?”

  I was wrong. There was more than just no answer. There wasn’t any real reaction at all. She ate another bite of the pasta. It wasn’t intended for me, and I shouldn’t take any, so I didn’t. At least, that was what I thought.

  Then my stomach started to get twisted up and I realized that I was hungrier than I thought.

  “You mind if I take some of that food?”

  “Go ahead,” Mom said. Her voice sounded like she was speaking from the other room.

  I went into the kitchen. Nothing had changed there, except that there had been a girl in it. Nobody ever used our kitchen, and when someone did, it was generally Dad. Or, it had been. It wasn’t going to be any more.

  The bowls were still in the same place, though, and the forks too. I took down a bowl and served myself from the serving bowl that was sitting on the counter. Then I went back. The television had been on when I got there, and I hadn’t changed it. I had barely even bothered to take notice of it before.

  As far as I could tell, Mom didn’t notice it any more than I had before, but I couldn’t keep looking at her, the way she was acting like this. It was too worrying. Upsetting, even. I didn’t want to feel like that any more than I had to.

  “What you watching?”

  She still didn’t answer. She took another bite of food, with an expression on her face that said she didn’t taste it. She might not even be aware her hand was moving, and her mouth was chewing. The motions were occurring because they had to, and because she could force herself to, but she wasn’t interested in actually doing it.

  So I turned halfway towards the television and took a look. I recognized the film immediately. It was an action movie, and given that it was showing on basic cable, they had probably cut out all the good parts. I took a bite of my food, no more conscious of it than Mom was.

  At least, in my case, that lasted exactly as long as it took to get the long, thin noodles to my lips. Jesus Christ, it was good stuff. I couldn’t believe it. I should have known better than to doubt Laura, if she set her mind to something, but I never got the impression of her as a very feminine woman.

  That had changed in more ways than just the physical, it seemed. She looked more like a woman. In fact, she looked damn near perfect. But apparently she’d started to act like one, too, which was just as unusual. I made a mental note to tell her how much I enjoyed the food, and then made a mental note not to tell her. She probably didn’t want to hear it.

  I leaned back and ate my food, watched Arnold shoot several dozen men who probably all deserved it, for the sort of flimsy reasons that you get in action movies, and waited for Mom to say something.

  I waited all night, and fell asleep on the couch. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to stay here. If that were the case, then nobody told me anything about it. I had no other place to go, though I knew distantly that there were hotels in the area. Just none that I’d ever had a need to stay at, and the feeling in my gut was that I might be needed here.

  I thought about life before I left. Thought about how much I’d hated it here. Things had changed, sort of. They’d stayed the same in a lot of ways, too.

  I dreamed about Dad, about the fact that he’d died here, in this nowhere town where nothing ever happens. That was exactly what I’d left to avoid.

  But there was another dimension to it, one that seeing Laura had reminded me of. Mom and Dad had a strange relationship, one that I didn’t understand and didn’t know if I wanted to.

  I don’t know if they were in love. I sure don’t know if they thought well of each other. But I know that he wasn’t alone when he passed. Will I be able to say the same thing?

  My life was good. At least, I thought of it as pretty good. The first few years away were a challenge. Or at least, they were physically hard. Military life can be like that, if you’re not ready. I thought I was ready. Most people who think they’re ready find out that they think wrong. I thought wrong.

  I kicked awake with the sun still not up. My watch read five. Jet lag had me all kinds of messed up, I guessed. In Brisbane, it was already evening. I’d slept the whole day away. But here, it wasn’t even close to sunrise yet. My eyes hurt. My shoulders hurt. I walked out to the car and pulled out bag number two, carried it inside, and laid it out on the couch opposite the one where I’d slept. Undid the zipper and pulled the shoes off the top of the pile.

  Just under the shoes were a pair of shorts. I changed quickly. If you’re quick, you don’t have to worry about getting caught. If you’re slow, though, then maybe you should consider finding someplace private to take your pants off.

  In the pocket of my coat was a pair of earphones. I buried them into my ears so deep that I could practically feel them tickling my brain and started my music. A persistent bass drum slammed so hard that I could feel it in my chest even at low volume. Then I pushed myself towards the door.

  I should take a solid warm-up. Everyone suggests it. You warm up for five, ten minutes and your body is more ready for the run to come. But I woke up sticky and sweaty. I don’t need extra warmth, and besides, I’m not that patient. By the time I reach the end of the street I’ve reached a full run, and by the time I hit Main, four miles up the road, I’m ready to keep right on going until I leave this place behind again.

  Instead, I turn back and go back to the house. I can’t leave. At least, not yet. Not until Dad’s in the ground and I’ve figured out what the fuck I’m going to do about Mom’s mood. I can’t leave her like this, no matter who’s watching her.

  A little voice in the back of my head says that I should have been there to watch her myself. I run harder until I can’t think anything at all, except for repeating silently to myself that all I need to do is keep running. If I die tired, then it’ll be a good chance to rest. If I don’t die, then I’ll get over it, just like I got over everything else.

  Four

  Laura

  Part of me hoped, deep down, that Dave wouldn’t be there when I got back. It was how he was. He wanted to leave, and he’d spent every year since I’ve known him talking about how he wasn’t going to be in the same place for more than a couple of days if he could help it.

  Definitely not a little place like this, though. Not some po-dunk nothing town in a place too cold to live. Well, it’s not cold right now. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t gone yet. Maybe that was why I found him sitting on the couch frowning. I moved past him and kept moving through the house.

  “Hey,” I said softly as I made it into the rear bedroom. Dave’s mother sat in her bed, reading something on her phone. It was most of what she did, if I left her to her own devices. It was only when I made her leave the room that she did so, and then only with a great deal of trouble. “How’d you sleep?”

  “He’s in the front room,” Mrs. Collins answered. I closed my eyes.

  “I know. But I’m here for you, regardless of whether he’s here or not.”

  “Are you sure?” She let out a long breath after she said it, like she was slowly letting all the air out of herself. “I’ll be alright by myself.”

  “You’re barely alright with me around.”

  “Whatever,” she said. It wasn’t an agreement, but it was what I was able to get right now, and it’s better than a flat-out refusal.

  It wasn’t like I have some right to be here, after all. She’s just another neighborhood woman to me, really.


  “You need to get up.”

  “You should be with Charlie,” Mrs. Collins said.

  “Charlie’s still at school.”

  I watched her lips pinch together. “Shouldn’t you be at school, too?”

  “I’m done for now.”

  “Work?”

  “Not until tonight.”

  “You work yourself too hard. If you’re at school in the morning, and work at night, and you’re here in the middle of the day, when do you expect to sleep?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I say. It’s a duck, but it’ll have to work because there’s no answer I’m going to give that she’s going to be happy with, and there’s no way that I’m going to leave here in either case.

  “I wish I didn’t have to,” she said. Then something surprising happened. She pushed her feet towards the edge of the bed and stood up.

  “Wow, that’s good! You’re doing great!”

  The withering expression that came from Mrs. Collins’s face was enough to kill some small shrubs all on its own. “Don’t patronize me, Laura.”

  “I’m… you know what? You do you.”

  I leaned back against the wall. “So what do you want for lunch?”

  “I don’t eat lunch.”

  “No,” I agreed. “You usually don’t. But today, you do, because tonight I’m going out on a date.”

  Diana raised her eyebrows at me. “You’re kidding. A date?”

  “A date.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “I’ve had more serious things before,” I said. Not really an answer.

  “Having someone babysit Charlie?”

  I made a face. I need to get one. At least, I should get one.

  “I was thinking I’d bring him along, you know?”

  “That serious?”

  No, I think. No, I’m just going to scare him off. Like I’ve scared off all the others. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  “I need to have the house to myself sometimes. You know?”